


Falling

by drippingwithsin



Series: Clocks [2]
Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Not A Happy Ending, non-graphic heterosexual sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 06:22:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4424789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drippingwithsin/pseuds/drippingwithsin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The bitter agony of longing for something you'll never get back takes a toll on one Miranda Priestly. [Sequel to Lone Clocks Tick]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling

**Author's Note:**

> AN: This was based from the song Falling by the Civil Wars. Download it now its absolutely beautiful. Also I want to point out this and Lone Clocks Tick are old stories of mine so I wasn't at my best. Just a wee baby writer.

_Haven't you seen me sleep walking?_  
_'Cause I've been holding your hand_  
_Haven't you noticed me drifting?_  
_Oh, let me tell you, I am_

* * *

 

With a delicately shaped ear pressed deeply into the fabric of a tear stained pillow, Miranda laid there frigidly, sapphire orbs staring unblinking at the far side wall. She waited and prayed for the weekly wifely duty to come to an conclusion. The figure above pumping a bony pelvis against her own pushing his bit of hard into her bit of dry softness. Despite being a periodically event, her body simply refused to produce the moisture needed for this activity. The pain was nearly unbearable but she dared not move, barely even making a sound except for the occasional grunt. Oh, it wasn't because she was frightened. No. Miranda Priestly was not a coward(a lie of course).

It was the simple fact she deserved this. Yes, she deserved to feel that agony of being used, to be tossed around for a night of pleasure.

So, prying graceful fingers away from mussed sheets, she brought shaking hands to sweat slicked hips and urged them onward. The tempo changed to a pounding motion. Miranda's perfect white teeth clenched in a vain attempt to distract the body from the burning sensation between two quivering thighs.

Heavy breathing, moans of one-sided passion, the thumping of an expensive king sized bed, then finally sweet precious silence.

It was over. Relief flooded Miranda's senses and the horrifying discomfort she felt was dragged downward into her deep dark depths to be fretted about later. The pressure of the added weight lifted, rolling away from her, in a minute's time light snores filled the air.

Icy darkness seeped in and even with the steady breathing of a warm body beside her, she still felt the small tendrils of loneliness beginning to creep in. It was all too much she needed some light whether it be artificial or other wise. Carefully as possible she began to untangle weak limps from the marital prison.

But as one foot hit the plush carpeting, she could not help the rather loud gasp of pain that made its way out of thin pink lips. Dread boiled within, clouded blue eyes side-glanced the figure beside her and lips parted to let out a relieved breath when she found him still unconscious.

Padding unevenly to the bathroom, she flung open a cabinet, snatching the nearest washcloth, and brought it to the porcelain sink. Warm water soaked the fabric, almost feeling it's cleansing power against long fingers, she sighed deeply. Taking the damp rag within a shaky hand, she carefully smoothed it over her sore womanhood, cringing when she pulled it back and noticed a pale pink fluid against the white cloth.

There was blood this time.

Shaking her head, she tossed the soiled item into the trash can and strolled back into the dimly lite bedroom. She ignored the bed entirely instead legs aimed her stiff body towards the exit.

* * *

Reaching the small cluttered room that is her study, blue irises lock onto liquor cabinet in the far corner, contents like a siren's call, that she could never fully resist. Miranda takes lets out a ragged breath trying not to think about the sweet costly relief the strong liquid has brought her over this past few months.

It only takes a few moments for the overwhelming temptation to take over  _Just one glass._ Another lie. She snorts, isn't that what the great Miranda Priestly is best at. Lying, spinning webs of deception like some sort of mythical weaver. She strode stiffly over, lifting a crystal decanter, and she poured herself a good sized tumbler of Scotch.  _No ice cubes, Mira. No need to mess up fine liquor_. Her father's advice, of course.

A bitter laugh. Then again, one would have to drunk to put up with one Helena Priestly.

 _Here's to you mother._ Tilting the glass back, she took a long healthy gulp of the strong liquor, it's tingling sting causing tears to prickle the corners of closed eyes.

* * *

Minutes tick by of rapidly disappearing liquid, the sharp clink of glass upon glass, and unwavering self loathing.

Once crystal clear blue eyes turned into dull grey pits of misery and the famous regal posture melted into a puddle of drunken bless, Miranda grinned manically. She had finally achieved numbness.

The grin however fell only to be replaced by twisted lips of agony.

Andréa, she needed Andréa. Days of calling, texting, and waiting with the only reply being silence. Oh, how she longed to caress that soft pale skin just once more. To feel the warmth of that lingering gaze and to run gentle fingers through those dark silken locks. 

Unsteady hands quickly shot down to the neatly organized desk and snatched up their prize with bitter glee. The device clutched above her excited heart, Miranda stumbled a sideways path to the soft love seat and plopped down. Impatiently she scrolled frantically through the memory for a few heart beats until finally the buried prize was found.

A small smile broke out across her face and she curled into the fetal position. Shakily, she placed the cell to an eager ear, laid there and waited.

 _"Hey Miranda, just wanted to let you know I had a great time last night and I miss you."_  A pause.  _"Well, call me back whenever you get a chance."_ Her elegant pale throat tightened at the voice, smooth as shaved chocolate, it never failed to bring goose pimples to her heated flesh.

Once again she played it, then another, and by the twentieth time heavy lids finally slipped shut. The black abyss of unconsciousness dragging a damaged mind downward away from the harsh realities of the world. Never a permanent relief but always a welcome one.

* * *

 

**END**

 


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